


Weak

by wishingwell44



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief mention of past torture, Cuddling & Snuggling, Kissing, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel), Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 14:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingwell44/pseuds/wishingwell44
Summary: After a hard day on the farm, still escaping from the public eye, Steve and James confront themselves about their feelings.





	Weak

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing fic in what seems like 4 years. (Crossposted on FF.Net)
> 
> Based off the song "Weak" by AJR. No copyright infringement intended. All rights of the characters belong to their respective companies and owners. Takes place Post-Civil War AU where Bucky doesn't go Wakanda, but both Steve and Bucky flee from the public eye, 6 months into hiding.

Steve was sitting in his dark and dusty apartment. Well, not  _his._ His apartment was still in Brooklyn probably converted to a cat cafe by some mid-twentysomethings. Steve was sitting in his dark and dusty apartment in the midwest. Nebraska? No, Wisconsin -  _I was just in Nebraska a month ago_  - but he wasn't thinking about specifics.

He got his teammates out of the prison without a hitch. Almost like Tony wanted him to come to the rescue. After the stint, Steve decided to ditch the persona. Almost 80 years of being the moniker, Steve had reached his zenith. Captain America no more, just plain ol' Super Soldier Steve Rogers.

When Steve first saw James in the run down apartment overseas, he was already somewhat self-aware, but still suppressing the memories that made him scream. After rescuing his friends, he was approached by T'Challa.

_"Think of what we can do, James. Our scientists have the absolute best technology. They can repair old wounds, some that are damaged for almost a hundred years."_

_James took a deep breath. Even though he was back into a normal life - or as normal as humanly possible. Going back to more tests, and_ freezing, and back to the hitting, shock, I will comply, I will do the mission, I am-

_He felt a hand on his shoulder, which made him jump back to this reality._

_"Hey, hey, hey. Look at me." James released the breath he was holding. He turned back to T'Challa._

_"I...uh, don't think that would be the best idea...for now."_

_"We will always make room, Seargent Barnes," T'Challa held out his hand for a handshake._

_"Just James." He returned the handshake. It was only a few hours later when James walked to Steve's apartment._

_"I need to get out of New York."_

_James got the words: "If that's what you need to do." They just stood at the door frame, and Steve got the message._ _At that time both of them weren't in their uniform. Just a jacket, t-shirt and jeans. Casual. Blending._ _Six hours later, they left._

That is what they were doing now. Blending...as best they could.

Steve grew a beard and his hair out a bit down to the bottom of his ears. A farmers tan was shading nicely due to his new job. He had to make something of a living and if he was going to do this for a bit, he might as well create a resume.

The clock beside his bed changed to 1:00pm. He finished work about a half hour ago and felt like it was already time for bed. Steve was still "America's Soldier"- in one way or another at least after what happened with Tony - but the labor was much easier than punching aliens or trying to foil an evil robot's world domination scheme - maybe lifting the odd cow here and there to just make life easier. He lay down on his bed, his head hitting the soft pillow. The sunshine peaked through the curtains in the bedroom giving a shine to the floating dust particles. His eyes flickered and deepened into his bed.

When his eyes fluttered open, the sun was a lot deeper in color - almost like a light burnt orange. It reminded him of his art school days. It reminded him when he was most happy - the ease, the naivety, the hope. That was all washed away when he heard some fidgeting down the hallway. Steve tensed, but immediately remembered where he was - not in some tower, not in some bunker in Italy but in an apartment where no one can really find them - he must have just come home from work at the mechanics shop.

_Bucky - James, not Bucky._  For the better half of the 20th century, he traveled via motorcycle and had to fend for himself, even though Hydra was in control (in every aspect) of him. When the vehicle broke in the middle of the Black Forrest during the dead of night, he was the one to fix it. He was on a mission.

James' jumpsuit was still zipped up, stained with the grease from the cars he worked on today. It has been 6 months since they left, and 5 months since Steve started to notice what James had on more intently. Those feelings, though, were always here. Even in Brooklyn those decades ago, he would see which suits he would wear, how they would hug Bucky's body with expertise. He would catch him at times, saying "What? This isn't good for the dolls?" or "You think Barbara would like this suit?". These feeling took a back seat, when Peggy came and went, and when James started to come back into Steve's life, so did the constant urge to be held by stronger hands than his.

"Hey, James - you done early today?" Steve padded into the main area of the apartment, rubbing his eye to try and wake up a bit quicker.

James' head poked his head above the fridge door. "Early? My watch says 7pm," Vocal fry was setting in.

"Shit, really?" Steve sat down at the kitchen stool in front of him. He leaned on the table and placed his hands on the back of his neck. "These past couple of weeks on the farm have been hell. Not including the summer weather."

James took a swig of some water. "Can't handle a couple of chickens?"

Steve chuckled. "More like a few cows," He sighed. "I'm just glad they're giving me the weekend off. Cheers to 40 hours,"

"Weekend is free? What? Who are you? Are you sure this isn't The Witches' Tale?," James joked.

"Did you even listen to horror radio back in the 30s?!"

"Not that I remember; I'm listening to it now, somebody cultivated it put it out as a podcast. Did you?!" James retorted back with laughter.

"In my defense I didn't have any friends, and they were really good! Now you just look like a hipster."

"Says the nerd, who is now technically a hipster since," James put up some air quotes "'you listened to it first before it was popular',"

"Well that's beside the point," Steve chuckled.

The laughter died down. "Do you want to grab a beer? Enjoy the slight freedom from our weirdly small apartment for two super soldiers?"

"I'm always surprised how well you adjust to civilian life," Steve quipped, not really wanting to go out. He doesn't want to be recognized. He doesn't want to deal with the endless debates from strangers over his life as an icon. He's done. He's just a kid from Brooklyn.

"Pretty sure that was my life for 70 years, in and out of cryostasis - adapting to the present situations,"

"Touché. You should get into acting - you'd be pretty good at it. Hell of a resume,"

"I don't think fighting and killing a bear really counts as acting experience," James said offhandedly. He took another sip of his water. Steve gave him a look of disapproval. "Hey, give me a little slack, I didn't know about the bear until after the fact...because of know," His voice trailed off.

There was a pause before Steve continued the conversation. He felt bad for bringing up that topic but it always seems to be unavoidable. Steve really should have just said "No, thank you," made himself microwaveable dinners, watch a couple of shows, and then head right to bed. Yet, here he was with the words "That's in the past, let's focus on now. Let's get out of here. Sometimes I feel claustrophobic in this apartment,"

The bar that James chose was dark, on the other side of town, dimmed lights and a sparse assortment of people.

"Buc-James, we can't get drunk." Steve said, straightforward, almost as a re-realization that they weren't quite the same as their patron counterparts.

"Well, yeah, I'm well aware of that, Steve. Why do you think I was a good undercover agent?" he paused. "'Oh sure, I'll have that 7th drink!', because by then - they really dont remember anything. I mean, I thought it was all about the feel about having that drink in your hand again."

Faint noises of catchy pub songs filled the back of Steve's memories.

"I have an idea; good thing I know a few people in this town." Steve was brought back to reality as his attention was shifted to the back door. Both of them weaved in and out of the crowd. Ending up in the back of the building, James tied his hair in a low bun, shoved his jacket into Steve's hands, and tied his grey hoodie. "Stay here" James ordered, and walked further to the back of the building.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Steve spoke slightly louder than usual.

"Too long of a list!" James retorted. Steve swore he just heard that Brooklyn twang; the same accent that he remembered from back then. The same accent that used to ask for his asthma cigarettes because they were 'fun'. It was only 15 minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. The worry that somebody had found him, the both of them from hiding, however it dissipated when James came back, throwing a thumbs up.

* * *

James locked the apartment door and headed to the balcony. Steve just stood there, leaning against the kitchen island.

"So? You want to smoke or not?" He held up a couple of joints.

"It took you that long to purchase a couple of joints?"

"C'mon, man." James chuckled. His lips gliding over his teeth, skin on the stubbled face folding in all the right places. "You in? One drag, and it's strong so hopefully even for us it can make us feel tingly at least." The smoke was breathed in.

"Tingly? Is that even a word?" James coughed in laughter, just barely holding the smoke in. "Pass it over." Steve leaned back in the chair of their balcony, watching the thin smoke rising from his face. As he passed it back the tips of the fingers touch. He paused, if only for a second, and swore he saw James do the same.

"I'm starting to remember Brooklyn." Silence. "Not a lot, but bits and pieces. Getting away from all that action...mumbo-jumbo helps a lot...clears up your anxieties."

Steve was weak. He was mentally weak, and just sat there quiet and peaceful, and just looked at James; the spark in his eyes, when memories begin again. The high concentration allowed him and James to feel some effects, even if it was just miniscule.

"Hey, James?"

"Yeah, Steve?"

"I'm sorry. For this. All of this." Steve raised his arms to show off the dimmed countryside.

"Steve,"

"But it's all my fault."

"For what? Siding with me? Remembering I'm a human, and that under all that brainwashing there's some humanity behind it all? I mean I was fucked up pretty badly. Even now, there is irreversible damage. You pulled this person," James motioned to himself, "back into this world in six months. I was barely functional. Don't ever say it's your fault because it's not. You said the same thing to me when I was becoming a human again." James took another hit. Steve rubbed his hands over his face, ending up holding onto the ends of his hair.

Steve needed another pull. He shouldn't but he was weak, no matter how strong he really was. Steve stepped over to James and grabbed the joint. He breathed it in, doubling to settling his nerves. Steve leaned in and stopped, allowing James to make a decision.

They didn't move.

Steve leaned closer, with the smoke still in his lungs. Getting in close, he put his lips lightly over the man opposite to him and let the smoke glide over. James inhaled, and leaned back to let it go.

Steve saw an out to his mistake. His lips, if only for a second, felt everything; the stubble lightly against his own. He started to collect himself and lean away, but James' hand hooked lightly onto his neck to bring him closer. They were inches apart, with Steve's arms blocking James from getting up. "Y-Yes. Yes, yes okay." Steve couldn't search for his words.

James pressed hard into Steve's lips, and when they both opened their mouths, Steve could feel his knees shudder like it was 1940 all over again. Standing up, James lightly pinned Steve to the balcony iron rail.

It was aggressive, like two teenagers. It felt like it was hours, compared to the maybe couple of minutes it might have actually been. The soft iron being casually bent by Steve's hands.

Steve was the first to break the kiss. There was silence between the two of them, building the anxiety of regret.

"I, uh," Steve was almost speechless. "It's getting late, I'm sorry I shouldnt have done that." Steve tried to leave the balcony but was stopped.

"You and I both know this was a long time coming, even with my shit brain." Steve continued to try and walk past, but James' hand kept Steve from exiting the balcony. "It's 9:30pm - so cut the bullshit I think we need to talk about this." James was becoming agitated.

"I think I just need to be insi-"

"Can I just," James rubbed his eyes. "Ever since this - me, since I - came to being self aware, again at least. You were always there to help. Those shit days, where I could not stop screaming, to the good ones where I only screamed two times. You were always there to help and I don't know if its some latching or whatever the correct term is, but fuck that. I don't really remember the pre-hydra me, but what I know now is that I really don't want you to leave right now. I feel like I am..I don't fucking know." James gave up searching for words. "I know I'm not your old Bucky, but what I am hoping is -"

"Weak," Steve breathed out, visibly less anxious.

"What?"

"The word you're searching for is weak. I couldn't find it either, and up until maybe two months ago, I found the right one. Whenever I'm around you, there's this weakness." They just faced each other, not doing much, the air filling with distant sounds of nocturnal wildlife.

Steve rubbed the nape of his own neck, almost searching for his own words, and just started to chuckle out of nowhere.

"What's so funny?" James' voice was deep.

"This - " Steve referenced the air in between them. "For me, it's been going on for decades, almost like an addiction - I feel like I keep coming back to it,"

"What about..." James didn't finish his sentence.

Steve realized whom he was talking about. Those red lips, her soft smile, the strength that could stop an army in its tracks. "She has passed on, and I will always love her. I think this just means I'm ready to move onto another chapter in my life."

Another pause. James stepped forward again, filling the space in between them to cup Steve's face. "Did I use to do this back before...everything? Every single time I want to -" James' face stretched into a smile. "We're pretty calm about everything that's happening right now,"

"Could be the weed," Steve noted. "And to answer your question - when I was not this -" Steve referenced his body, "I was very sick and frail and had some complicated medical issues. When my pains used to get really bad at home and when my mom would not be there, you would hold me for some reason, and for some reason it would help calm me down a lot, or at least help distract me from the pains, if only for a second." Steve smiled. James' hand felt the muscles tug, while he moved closer and Steve allowed him to kiss for a second time.

The kiss this time was softer, more exploratory. James' hand traveled down Steve's body, somehow even more defined than before. As his hand started to glide over his cotton cladded torso, his head dipped to the nape of the neck, James' tongue encircling the patch of rough skin. A light moan escaped Steve's mouth.

Once again it felt like hours. Blissful hours. The iron balcony fence started to creak a lot louder, thinning out under the strength of Steve's hand. The soft snapping of iron brought them both back to reality. Chuckling, they composed themselves slightly and cleaned up what they could. Locking the sliding glass door, they were at a crossroads. They had the weekend to relax, and see what to explore next, however both of them were more than happy to leave it at what it is.

"So, uhm,"

"'Uhm?" James asked.

"Sorry, I'm just not sure how to -" Steve stopped his rambling mouth. "I just - this is newer to me, this you and me thing. I want to do this right. I don't want to mess this up - this has been a long time coming."

"If you're saying what I think you're saying, I am right here with you - but if you don't want to sleep in your room tonight, my door will be open." James smiled. The evening ended, the lights were shut off and the only thing you could here was the light hum of the air conditioner.

* * *

The first thing James felt first was the warm Saturday light shining through the window. The second thing James felt was a heavy hand and a solid body. In this moment both Steve and James momentarily had the same passing thought: if this is how life begins again, to wake up and fall again and again, they would never feel weak again.

**Author's Note:**

> Going to give a quick shout-out to my wonderful beta. Constructive Criticism always welcomed.


End file.
